


inevitable.

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Jurassic Park - All Media Types, Jurassic Park Original Trilogy (Movies), Jurassic Park Series - Michael Crichton
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Desperation, F/M, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Sloppy Seconds, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 09:30:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15482772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Ellie, Alan, and Ian...It was inevitable, in the end.





	inevitable.

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Неизбежно](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238800) by [Rainy_Elliot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainy_Elliot/pseuds/Rainy_Elliot)



Lunch, Alan muses, is something that has happened almost entirely by accident.

It’s been six months now – six months since they got off that damn island, six months of trying to go back to the dig, of trying to focus on dead dinosaurs knowing that there were living ones ( _cheap imitations, fake and obscene, so why do they haunt his dreams night after night?)_ out in Costa Rica, six months of trying to _live_.

And one day, they’d come back to the caravan in Montana, and there Malcolm had been, leaning heavily on a black-painted cane, sitting in their kitchen just like John Hammond had done, but Malcolm… Malcolm had a slowcooker and a leg of lamb bubbling on the side, had brought two bottles of red wine and a tiramisu.

“You guys, living out here… You don’t know, uh, how to _relax_ ,” Malcolm had said with a quiet chuckle, and had smiled when Ellie had thrown her arms around his neck, when Ellie had kissed him on both cheeks. He had looked to Alan and smiled winningly, as if he was expecting Alan to give him the same treatment.

Alan had shook his hand.

But Alan, Alan had insisted they had to pay him back, that they had to take him out for lunch in exchange, and they had… And so Malcolm had invited them again. And so they’d had to reciprocate. And then again—

Accidental.

And it’s not… It’s not unpleasant. Despite himself, Alan likes spending time with Malcolm, likes Malcolm’s wit and his sarcasm, is taken with his unflinching and unwavering _morality_. He likes how Malcolm is with Ellie, likes how they seamlessly fit in together, likes how they joke together and laugh together, loves how much Ellie _smiles_ around Malcolm. And yet— Malcolm is complicated.

Malcolm is unsettling. He’s flirtatious and easy, talks so casually about releasing this book he’s been writing as if it won’t be the end of his career, the end of his life, is just so… Absolute. He’s just devoted, absolutely, not to the concept of absolute chaos, but simply to doing _good_.

Even if it’ll hurt him.

He shifts in the driver’s seat, driving forward a little and bringing himself into parallel park on the street outside of Malcolm’s modernist apartment. It’s incredible, from the outside – it’s white blocks, made up only of squares, and the inside is mostly the same. Stark, minimalist lines in whites and greys, with a few highlights in black – Ian Malcolm doesn’t believe in too much colour.

“You guys, _you_ add the colour,” he purrs whenever Alan and Ellie come over. It had made Alan’s cheeks warm red the first time he’d said it, his fingers gently brushing the side of Alan’s forearm as his palm had cupped Ellie’s cheek, and then he’d stepped back toward the kitchen, where he’d had a ratatouille cooking in the oven. Guy’s a great chef – what _isn’t_ he, when it comes down to it?

“What do you do when we’re not here, Ian?” Ellie had asked softly, touching over the back of Malcolm’s hand with her own.

“Mmm, limp around. Write. Wait for you guys to visit again.” Malcolm had laughed, but Alan and Ellie had both seen it, both seen the moment where he’d paused, the laugh frozen on his face, like he’d been caught in a truth he hadn’t realised he’d been telling. Always the truth, with Ian Malcolm – always.

Glancing at Ellie, he thinks of the conversation they’d had the last time they’d gone out for breakfast, the three of them at some diner Malcolm had pretended to like, and that Alan had pretended to hate. Alan thinks of the way he had said, “You think he’s ever gonna stop flirting with you?”

“Maybe on the same day he stops flirting with you,” Ellie had replied, and Alan had been struck dumb, thinking about it. The idea of Malcolm _stopping_ , of him being anything less that charming and a little physical, with both of them – with either of them – had rendered him silent.

Guy’s lonely, sure, but he isn’t… Alan’s pretty _sure_ that Malcolm is bisexual, sure, just like Ellie, but Alan? Alan likes Malcolm. And Malcolm’s handsome, sure – he’s handsome and he’s smart, he’s fun, but he’s still a man. Alan isn’t interested in men. He never has been, has noticed when they’re handsome, sure, has been cognizant of the male body, of sex appeal, but he’s never been—

“You ring the bell,” Alan says. “I rang it last time.” Ellie laughs, and she presses the button. Distantly, inside the door of frosted glass, Alan hears the chime of electronic tones. There is no answer.

Frowning, Alan glances at his watch – half past eleven. Sure, they’re early by half an hour, but they usually _are_ early, when they show up at Malcolm’s apartment. Alan reaches up, ringing the bell himself, again. Another chime of electronic tones, and the two of them stand up straight on the doorstep, Ellie on the right, Alan on the left. (“You guys, you— You really look a picture like that. You know?”) Alan glances to Ellie, who glances back.

“He’s not coming to the door,” Ellie says, as if it’s Alan’s fault.

“Seems not,” Alan says. “Last time this happened, it was because Mick Jagger had a new album, and he was listening to it with a headset on.”

“I don’t think Mick Jagger would release two albums in the same year,” Ellie murmurs, scratching her head, and Alan shrugs.

“Honey, it’s probably the same album. You know what he’s like,” Alan murmurs back, trying to keep his tone even, and comforting. And yet there’s a vague anxiety in Alan’s chest, just like there had been the last time. A sense of worry, a sense of understanding that beneath the rule of chaos, where stuff _can_ happen, and _will_ happen, and that disaster scenarios are never as far away as someone might think… He can see it in Ellie, too, see the stiffness in the way she holds her shoulders and spreads the stance of her feet on the ground, the way she clenches her fists just slightly at her sides. “We’ll go around the back,” Alan says, patting Ellie’s shoulder, and he gestures to the right, where the side gate leads out to the pool.

There’s a huge fence around Malcolm’s pool, high enough that he can “do whatever he wants” during his own swim, and Alan has never seen fit to pursue that line of questioning to its completion.

He doesn’t bother to knock, and instead he feels for the latch – Ellie grabs her Blockbuster card out of her purse, and she uses it to push up on the lock latch from the outside, letting the gate swing inward.

They step onto the wood decking of the path, and they don’t yet bother to latch the gate behind them – perhaps out of instinct, perhaps out of remembered necessity, they both crouch slightly, and they move slowly over the decking. Alan can’t help the thoughts running through his head, can’t help the idea of InGen sending somebody to kill Ian once they realise he’s writing his book, can’t help the less realistic ones – Ian, bloody with his guts ripped out by a raptor, Ian drowning under the weight of an archaeopteryx, Ian—

Ian.

Not Malcolm. Who is Alan fooling anyway?

The garden is thick with shrubbery and flowers – Ian’s garden is nothing like his house, doesn’t have the stark, straight lines or the obsessive lack of colour. Every spring, and every summer, he throws seeds around by the bagful, and he sees what begins to grow. It’s a romantic idea, Ellie says.

Alan thinks it’s a little crazy, and maybe that’s why he likes it too.

He hears a low groan, and he freezes, snapping his head to look through a gap in the trees, where he can just catch a glimpse of dark hair and a sweat-soaked back, and—

“Oh, shit,” Ellie whispers, and she and Alan both take a step forward. Ian is sprawled on a sunbed, a thick and downy cushion under his injured leg, his fingers fisted in the towel underneath him, and he’s completely naked. Muscles ripple under the flesh of his back, under his skin, as a tall guy with broad shoulders and a bulky form pounds into him from behind, his asscheeks spread wide and the guy’s thumbs pressed into the meat of Ian’s backside.

Alan can catch a glimpse of the big guy’s latex-wrapped cock, which is half as thick as Alan’s wrist and _long_ , and he can hear Ian’s low, gasping grunts and moans, his heaved-in gasps, his whimpers when the guy fucks into the hilt with a slap of flesh on flesh and the slick sound of lube.

Christ, he’s a sight. Alan can see the little stutter of his hips against the towel, hear those low noises, and he can feel his own cock twitch between his legs, sparked into interest. He’s beautiful like this, completely coming to pieces, soaked with sweat and shining with it in the sun, fucked so damn full he’s _shaking_ under it.

Alan’s mouth is dry.

He reaches for Ellie’s wrist, loosely wrapping his fingers around it, and he pulls her slowly back down the path and toward the gate. They draw it shut, latching it again with the use of the Blockbuster card, and the two of them move hurriedly back to the doorstep.

“Shit,” Ellie says for a second time.

“Yeah,” Alan agrees. “He’s— Well. Guess we know he isn’t lonely.” Ellie lets out a breathless exhalation, and she leans heavily against the door, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Alan can see her replaying it in her mind, the sight of Ian getting fucked by some tank built by a soldier, the sight of Ian Malcolm getting _fucked_. Alan swallows, and he presses the heel of his hand over his crotch, ostensibly to scratch an itch.

He’s not interested in men. Alan isn’t interested in men, has never been interested in men, but Ian—

Ian’s something different. Like Ellie is.

They don’t speak for the next few minutes, quiet where they stand on the doorstep. Alan is deep in trying not to think, and Ellie is actively thinking, Alan can see, actively imagining, actively… _God_.

God.

Twenty minutes later, the tank moves through the door, hurriedly dressed and looking at his own watch, and he jumps when he sees Ellie and Alan. Alan rings the doorbell for a third time, and they glance at one another as the door opens. Ian’s eyes are half-lidded and hazy, his lips parted and kiss-bruised, and he is dressed loosely in a black robe, the thing tied loosely over his belly.

He looks between them, looking blankly at Ellie, and then looking equally blankly at Alan: he’s out of it. He looks blissed out – _fucked_ out. Alan feels a flare of some newer, hotter emotion in his chest. Jealousy.

“Lunch,” he says, finally. “I forgot.”

“We figured that,” Alan says. “Luckily, it’s coq au vin. You put in the crockpot, right?” He can smell it on the air, smell the stew and the red wine and the lingering scent of fresh bread that Ian probably made this morning like the chaotician-cum-housewife he is. Ian blinks, and then he smiles. His hand moves automatically to Alan’s chest, his fingers hot and _long_ against his pectorals on the left side, and Alan wonders if Ian can feel the heart beat in his chest, if he can feel how fast it’s running.

“I… Yeah, I did. Yeah, mmm.” Ian’s eyes go to Ellie, then, and he leans in, kisses her on just one cheek, but Alan can see the sweat that beads on the side of his neck, smell the scent of sex clinging thick to Ian’s skin.

“Who was your friend?” Alan asks when Ian leads them further into the apartment, into the living room, gesturing for them to sit on the black leather sofas, which are rectangular, like benches. He doesn’t sit himself.

“Friend,” Ian repeats, and then he runs a hand through his hair, blinking a few times. Alan watches the way the muscles in his neck shift when he arches his back, rolling his shoulders slightly, and he wonders for the first time what it would be like to pin Ian back against a wall and drag his tongue from the hollow of his collarbone up to the side of his jaw. “Uh, no, no, he was, uh— Physiotherapist.”

Ellie hides her incredulous laugh in a quiet cough.

“Any chance of a cup of coffee?” Alan asks, grinning to distract from her. He sees the hesitation in Ian’s face, and he realises that knees are pressed tightly together, even as he favours his right side, and— Alan breathes in slowly, because he sees it, now, sees the trickle of lube on the inside of Ian’s ankle, shining on the golden-brown skin there.

He’s still—

Open.

“Sit down, Ian,” Ellie says softly, following his gaze, and there’s a slight grin dragging at her lips. The imperative is obvious even though she speaks quietly, and Alan can feel the flush hot on his cheeks as all the thoughts, kept desperately back, brim to the surface and all come to a head at once. He thinks of Ian on his back, thinks of the way his cock would feel in Alan’s hand, thinks of fucking him on his belly, thinks of gripping tight at his hair, all at once, and he can’t, he can’t—

“Doesn’t it hurt?” Alan blurts out as Ian slowly sinks down onto the couch beside Ellie, and Ellie slides forward, closer to him. She slings her hand over his lower back, touching over the silken fabric of the robe, and Ian shivers. There’s a tension in the room, thickly charged and landing heavy on all their skin, and Alan sees Ian’s legs fall open slightly when Ellie’s fingers brush his hips.

“What, physio?” Ian asks, and he laughs quietly. “Yeah, a little. It’s meant to.” The haziness is leaving him now, replaced with more alertness, and Ellie leans in a little closer. Alan inhales shakily at the sight of them, at Ellie’s tiny form pressed up against the side of Ian’s, and because Ian’s robe is falling apart too.

He can see Ian’s cock, slender and long and coming from a thatch of thick, dark hair. It’s circumcised, Alan can see, but of course it’d be circumcised – Ian makes no secret of being Jewish, and it looks _right_ like this, looks good. Alan looks up from Ian’s cock, which is soft and still wet at its head, and he meets Ian’s eyes.

They’re wide, his lips parted. Alan’s pretty sure _his_ eyes are wide too.

He hears Ellie chuckle, quietly. “God, you should see you two,” she murmurs, and she puts her hand up through Ian’s hair, dragging her fingernails over the scalp, and Alan sees Ian _shudder_.

“Okay,” Ian mumbles, and there’s a sort of heady glow in his own cheeks even as he leans back into Ellie’s hand. “Okay, so I— Yes. Yes, alright, not a physiotherapist. But I’m not… _Gay_. It’s complicated, I’m—”

“Bisexual,” Ellie murmurs, her mouth against the shell of Ian’s ear, where Alan can see the hairs moved by her breath. “Yeah, me too.” Ian freezes, blinking slowly.

“Oh,” he says, and he turns to glance at her. “Oh, thank— It was just a one night… I forgot about lunch. Sorry. That I forgot about lunch. You saw me?”

“By the pool,” Ellie murmurs, her mouth hovering over Ian’s. “We forgot for a second too.”

“But does it hurt?” Alan asks again, and Ian glances at him.

“Anal,” he asks, softly. “Or my leg?”

“Both.”

“Just my leg,” Ian answers. “And only a little.” Ellie drags him into a kiss, and Alan swallows to see the way he melts right into her mouth. Ian’s mouth opens, his jaw going slack, and he lets Ellie control the kiss, lets her press her tongue forward, and Alan can feel their lips smacking against one another as Ian’s legs spread wider.

Very, very slowly, not yet able to convince himself this isn’t a dream, that this isn’t some feverish fantasy he’ll wake up from any moment, Alan slides onto his knees on the cubist rug, patterned in white and grey. He sets his fingers on Ian’s knees, feeling the muscle of his thighs as he slides them up higher, and Ian shivers, spreading them wider. He can see the scar on his left thigh, see it ragged and _long_ where they’d had to dig in to set the twisted bone into place, and even then, it’s never gonna heal right. Alan knows it, Ellie knows it – Ian knows it.

Ian and Ellie pull apart, and once more Ellie tangles her hand in Ian’s hair, gripping tightly at the thick, black locks.

“You want— Is this okay?” Alan asks. Ian stares down at him, at the way Alan kneels between his spread legs, and he is utterly silent, utterly speechless, for a long few seconds. Dumbly, then, he nods his head.

Alan looks down at Ian’s ass, and he feels himself inhale. Alan’s never been this close to another man’s cock before, and he never envisaged in this situation that he wouldn’t be looking at the cock itself, but Ian’s ass is _open_ , a pink pucker that is open by a finger’s width, and is _wet_. Lube shines on it, slick and dripping slowly between Ian’s cheeks, soaked on his thighs with sweat, and Alan stares in awe at the way that it _winks_ when Ian clenches, his cock twitching.

Ellie is kissing him again, Alan can hear, and Alan slides his fingertips up Ian’s thighs, worrying at his own lip slightly. This, _this_ , he’s never entertained. Sure, he’s let himself see that Ian is handsome, that he’s got a kind of rugged charm mixed with his musician’s grace, that he oozes sex appeal, but…

Alan moves a trembling hand toward Ian’s ass, and he plays his thumb delicately over the hole, feeling the flesh _hot_ under his touch. Ian whimpers, the sound muffled where Ellie swallows it down, and this, _this_ , Alan likes. Ian vulnerable, Ian open and without his Rockstar persona, Ian with his asshole open and wet and his cock slowly swelling, even though he’s only just _come_.

Alan’s mouth feels dry, and he focuses on gathering a little saliva on his tongue before slowly leaning in, and he touches his tongue to the base of Ian’s cock. Ian _chokes_ , his hips stuttering, and Alan grips tight at his good thigh to keep him from shifting his hips up too much.

“He’s sensitive,” Ellie murmurs quietly, and she reaches down, her hand wrapping slowly around Ian’s cock. Ian shudders, and Alan stares in desperate fascination as more blood flows downward, as Ian’s cock swells to hardness in her palm, under her fingers. Her thumb drags over the wet head of Ian’s cock, and Alan leans in, touching his tongue to its base again.

Ian squirms, and Ellie draws her fingers up higher, taking hold of one of Ian’s nipples with her finger and thumb and _rolling_ it. The skin is hot, tasting like salt and musk, and Alan drags his tongue slowly up the length of Ian’s cock, tasting it, feeling it twitch and shift—

Until he parts his lips and takes Ian onto his tongue. He tastes _bitter_ , bitter and salty at once, and Ian groans low in his throat. It occurs to Alan how little he’s talking, how easy it is to actually render Ian Malcolm _speechless_ now that he knows the trick to it, and he slides his thumb forward once again, dipping it over the open pucker.

He can feel it clench and twitch under his thumb, and he can’t resist it, can’t resist the easy slide forward as he pushes his thumb further in, and Ian is whimpering, once more muffled into Ellie’s mouth. Ellie drags her teeth over Ian’s lower lip, and Ian moans, arching into Alan’s mouth and his thumb, and God, _God_ , he can feel Ian squeeze around his thumb. His cock lets out a burst of precoma, and Ian drags away, gasping out, “Condom, condom, just get a—”

Condom. _Condom_. He means—

Fuck.

Alan runs to grab one off the mantelpiece, where Ian has a crystal bowl of them (of course he does), and Alan tears it open, steadying Ian’s cock in his hand. “ _No_ ,” Ian says plaintively. “I want you to— Al, come on, you’re kill… You’re killing me here.” Alan is hard in his pants, he knows he is, and he swallows hard, glancing to Ellie.

Ellie’s eyes are wide, her pupils dilated, and her hands go right to Alan’s belt buckle, undoing it as quickly as she can and shoving his pants down around his knees, leaning back and pulling Ian into her lap. Ian’s thighs are spread wide, and he looks hungrily at Alan’s cock, which is short but thick, and he slides the condom down his cock, slowly.

He can’t—

“You sure?” Alan asks, and Ian grabs at his arm, dragging him closer.

“Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m pretty sure, can you just—” He pulls Alan in, and Alan shudders as Ian lines the head of Alan’s cock up against his hole, feeling the warmth of his fingers through the latex of the condom.

“But… From the front?” Ian’s expression is momentarily incredulous, and then he digs his fingers into the meat of Alan’s ass, dragging him closer. Alan gasps as the head of his cock pops easily past the loosened ring of muscle, and he feels himself slide inside. Ian is hot and tight as a _vice_ , despite how loose he’d seemed from the outside, and Alan grunts as he bottoms out.

There was another guy here, just a few minutes before, other man buried in Ian’s ass— Alan gives a vicious thrust of his hips, and Ian _wails_. Ellie laughs, dragging her nails down his belly and his chest, and she meets Alan’s gaze over Ian’s shoulder even as she squeezes both his nipples.

“How’s he feel, honey?” Ellie asks, and Alan looks at Ian’s lip, which are parted. He’s trembling, soaked with sweat, and he feels like a _wreck_ – Alan is struck by a strange urge to ruin him completely, and he feels it thrum hot in his chest.

“Good,” Alan murmurs against Ian’s mouth, feels Ian’s breath hot and heady against his lips. “Tight. I’ve never…” Ian _clenches_ , and Alan groans, thrusting his cock inside a little further, right to the hilt, and Ian whimpers, leaning in closer.

“Can I— Is it… Is it okay, if I—” Ian doesn’t look at Alan himself, but at Ellie, and Alan feels a thrill of heat inside him, feels himself shudder at the thought that Ian would ask Ellie for permission to kiss _him_ …

“Yeah,” Ellie murmurs, and nips at the shell of his ear. “Go ahead.” Ian surges, and Alan groans, feeling Ian’s tongue, his teeth, his lips, all at once. Ian kisses fiercely, as if this is the only way he can breathe, the only way he’s ever been able to breathe, and Alan grunts as he feels Ellie’s hand wrap around Ian’s cock, squeezing, twisting hard, and Ian _shudders_. “He’s gonna come, Alan. Can you believe that? Big rockstar Ian Malcolm, and he’s going to come on your cock, he’s going to come _apart_ … Like he did already. Fuck him harder, Alan.”

Alan rolls his hips up and into Ian’s ass, feels him squeeze, feels him shudder, and it’s—

God. _God_.

He’s going to come. Alan can feel it, can feel Ian coiling up tighter and tighter like a spring, feel him twitch and shudder as he whimpers and fucks himself down, and Ellie’s hand speeds up on his cock, speeds—

“Are you going to?” Alan asks lowly. “Are you? God, you look great like this, I should have… We should have done this six months ago.” Ian heaves in a breath, and the sound he makes when he comes is _broken_ , is choked and ragged and ripped from his throat, and Alan can feel the weak sputter of come between their bellies, feel Ian shudder and tremble and _melt_.

Alan fucks him through it, until Ian drops back against Ellie’s chest, limp and exhausted, and Ellie grins, playing her fingers over his belly.

“He’s not done yet, you know,” Ellie murmurs. Ian blinks, slowly.

“Huh?”

“He’s not done yet,” Ellie murmurs. “Alan, he… He can go for _hours_.” Not strictly true, but the exaggeration is more than worth it for the way Ian’s hazy eyes widen, and the tiniest little “ _Hah_ ,” of noise that comes from far back in his throat…

God.

This is perfect.

\--

“Next time, I think Ian can fuck me,” Ellie murmurs, and Alan laughs, stroking his fingers over Ian’s jaw. He can’t stop touching him, can’t stop feeling the other man’s body under his fingers; Ellie is pressed against Alan’s side, and Ian is sprawled over both their laps, his head tilted back against a downy pillow.

“Next time,” Ian repeats, softly. “Next time. You serious?”

“You’re kidding,” Alan murmurs. “You think we don’t want to do this again?”

“I thought you didn’t like men,” Ian says.

“I don’t.”

“I’m a man.”

“You’re an exception.” 

“And the threesome?” Ian asks, slowly. Ellie’s hand is corded in Ian’s hair, and Ian’s fingers are intertwined with Alan’s own, so that the three of them for a circuit.

“The threesome works,” Ellie murmurs. “You don’t think this was a bit… I always thought it was inevitable.” Alan and Ian both glance toward her. “What? I did.”

“Next time,” Alan murmurs. “We team up on _her_.”

“Oh, yes,” Ian mumbles, a little dreamily. “Oh, yes, I… That’s perfect. Yes. Most definitely. Inevitable.”

“Inevitable,” Alan repeats. Ellie grins a little, and Alan feels himself relax. He should be stressed out, he supposes – this should feel complicated, should feel daunting and bizarre, but… Ian is blissed out over their laps, warm and heavy and naked, and it’s somehow right. It’s somehow exactly what was needed.

 _Exactly_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Hit me up](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/faq). Requests always open.


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